Inside and Unsaid
by LitBlueEyed
Summary: Writings (from drabbles to stories) about confessions, fights, tears, and laughs left unsaid in the TeenTitan Series. "We run in beaten converse and hoods, through the streets, singing at the top of our lungs.We throw our hands up in the air, swaying to the rhythm that sends our hearts overflowing. Mid twirl, our grasp release colorful fabric to unravel and flow behind like capes"
1. Entry 1: Hooligans

Uniforms abandoned, we run in beaten converse and hoods, through the streets, singing at the top of our lungs. We throw our hands to in the air, swaying to the rhythm that sends our hearts overflowing. Mid twirl, our grasp release colorful fabric to unravel and flow behind us like capes. As if we couldn't, we pretend to fly, laughing hysterically.

The boom box on his shoulder beats and we stomp through the crowds, hoping they'll pick up the tune and join in the dance. Cops come and we run, hopping on the roof of a truck headed for who knows where. We laugh and laugh and laugh until we cry, shouting compliments at the people passing by. We smile to those who do not and run we think we're about to get caught. We stage harmless pranks here and there, inviting Jump to laugh with us. As they do, we feel infinite.

In bars, we chug milk to estrange ourselves, raising an eyebrow or two. In the late night crowds, we spark up random conversations with snobbish adults, nose upright to patronize a bunch of pesky hooligans. In restaurant, we strike up deep conversations with the neglected waiters and hit the karaoke as a five-part act.

Call us childish—but we are children. Call us stupid—but teenagers are supposed to be. The Teen Titans are supposed to be stoic and fun-less, I guess. But I swear, in one night of being disguised as simple teenaged hooligans, we seem to touch so many more lives than the Titans do.


	2. Entry 2: Midnight Traditions (1)

It was a simple tradition—a duty-like procedure bestowed upon him when the Teen Titans formed: to patrol the halls at midnight. However, with this tradition, Robin found himself questioning his title. Leader, they called him and leader he wanted to be for them. He knew the title well: many supers looked up to Batman. Never did he know or expect what emotions would channel through this—this title. He was worried sick when a Titan was injured and often blamed himself for it. He would pace back and forth for hours, planning new attack forms and scheduling practices to ensure himself of his friends' strength—their safety as well. In his room where the only source of light flickered from a beaten lamp, he often lurked, rummaging through pages and pages of type-writer print, stamped onto newspapers. If he kept on top of the criminals, he kept his friends safe. It was his duty, he believed, and that what drove him to do it.

However, suspicion loomed inside when another emotion seemed to pull him from his cave of mind and into the company of his friends. Being with them was not a duty, he realized, but—but something more. He **wanted** to be with them. When he realized this, he stopped in his track and slowly caressed the place his heart bet. On his way to his room he was, but he turned around slowly, eyes wide, breaths small, and proceeded back to the common room where four bickered over what movie to watch. There, swooning at a beautiful girl's laugh, smirking at another's sarcasm, yelling over a robot's game station, and laughing at a green kid's blooper, he questioned himself once more. A leader he was, but what explained the other emotion? On and on, the question rattled inside his mind, overlapping into his midnight tradition.

Through the halls, he was careful not to awake the slumbering someones. Scanning every corner and hallway veiled in a moonlit lace, he went, soon to stop at each room. Robin checked on their conditions of three and proceeded onto the fourth. There, she seemed to be fine, probably head lazily slung off the end of her bed like she always fell asleep. He gave a slight grin. Time to move on, but he could not bring himself to. Instead, he found himself against the wall, sliding down to meet the floor. He looked at her doorway and thought about who he was to her—who he was to them all. Not only was he their leader, but he was their protector, yes? He did not have to be, but he **wanted** to. But why? His eyes went wide. Because he loved them.


	3. Entry 3: Cooking

They watched the flip of his wrist sling a pancake to the air and marveled as it fell perfectly into the pan with a sizzle. He stirred his spatula against the batter-baked rim and tossed another like his mother once taught him to. Seven pancakes to a plate, he served his friends, them thanking him gratefully, mouths full as they scarfed down the meal. During these moments, he couldn't help a smile from spouting. Often, a titan would volunteer to take over the cooking for the day, but happily, he denied. Whenever he cooked, whether it was turning over steaks, mixing batter, barbequing ribs, seasoning soup, or baking pizza, he was revisited by dear memories of his mother tied to a simple flip of the wrist.


	4. Entry 4: Prank Monster

A fiend he became, scurrying down hallways, maliciously twirling his fingers, snickering here and there when no one was near. In the hallway, he set up a sling-shot. In the ops room, five whoopee cushions sat upon the sofa. Toilets were often buttered and something always had to be oozing. He connived and connived until footsteps were heard down the halls. Into a moth, he morphed, fluttering to wall to watch hilarity go down.

Starfire became confused to this earthling tradition of "roomating". To Raven's distaste, it became a game between the boys. The boys would fire back their own prank styles. Cyborg had a childish touch like dying shampoo blue, putting salt in drinks, and setting alarm clocks to go off at four in the morning. Robin was credited with a grotesque sense—the trap doors drops, cutting hair in sleep, saran-wrapping the fridge, and replacing the soda with hot-sauce in soda cans. Months and months this battle and battle went on: the Titans vs. Beast Boy. There were globs of colorful messes, electricfying, fake barfing and real ones too. There were nights spent on the toilet, Titans wearing make-up in their sleep, and most importanly lack of sleep. Soon, passion for the game dwindled and their fear of the next new prank tripled, they decided to call truce and waved a white flag Beast Boy substituted for his underwear.

According to Beast Boy's mind, however, Robin had the last laugh. The next day he emerged from his room, grinning with sly, and scurried down the halls, maliciously twirling his fingers, and snickering maliciously.

Raven went wide eyed and death-toned. "What did you do?"

"That's enough!" Robin darted into the room, a pink-cheeked and pink dyed uniform, tackled the boy, and dragged himby the collar, swinging him outside and into the rain. His fist pounded against the window and his voice muffled, "You're not coming back inside until the pranks stop!"


	5. Entry 5: Protectors

In friendship, there is a network of emotions, swirling in the pool, driving each Titan to protect another. Robin connected to Starfire as Starfire connected to Raven. Raven connected to Beast Boy and Beast Boy connected to Cyborg. And Cyborg connected to Robin. All linked they were and by these links, all became close. Reliance existed in combat where they fought as a five part team—they made each other strong. However, with such a friendship blossoming, they all had something worth protecting—especially the girls.

Girls—girls was the word the boys racked their brains with. Girls were always portrayed as the damsels in distress usual not that Robin, Beast Boy, and Cyborg thought of them that way. The Titan ladies were tough; they could handle themselves for sure. But often the boys found themselves protective by nature. It was a mutual tradition for the boys to look over their shoulders every few minutes to check on their girls in combat, grinning at their strength and taking pride in their hero-ship. Also, Robin was always quick to catch a falling Starfire and Beast Boy usually took flight in the form of a bird, being the second wave of Raven's attack. Often, Cyborg used massive, broad, metal-packed body to shield them during massive attacks. Beasts, villains, demons, and monsters were on enemy, but fans were another. Cyborg, Beast Boy, and Robin—Robin especially—snarled at the boys who lashed lust looks to their girls. Nothing disturbed them more.

At the end of a week, each had usually experienced their fair share of broken bones, sprains, blood, and the stains that came with. However, during the week, it was usually the girls that carried the team—supporting a hurt body into flight and tucking them away into hospital beds. In combat, they blew through monsters and took down bosses that dared to threaten the boys.

If you asked them why, they would express their need to protect **their** boys


	6. Entry 6: Room Dwellers

They were caught in the mix of their troubles when they first met. Cyborg, his half human self, searching for another to look at him as a whole. Beast Boy, a green kid with nowhere else to go. Robin, just looking for trouble to distract him from the past. Starfire, a slave, violated, tweaked, and abused, beginning on the path of recovery. Raven, hell's portal to earth, hoping for her death instead of the death everyone else.

Despite popular belief, it was very quiet during the first few weeks of the Teen Titans. They dwelled in their rooms, staring out the window, fiddling in their bed sheets, lying on the ground, or sitting against the doors that separated them all from each other. Occasionally, they met another in the kitchen at meal times—Cyborg was happy to cook. To an empath tied to a permanent power, a gloomy aura she received from the spiritual flow of the universe, gnawing at her insides. She fastened her arms to hold herself. Something did not feel right. However, in her room, she kept.

"**We were each given four individual pieces**," she knew, "**to weave ourselves back together and the more we were apart, the more we dwelled in our broken selves, furthering the damage. This encouraged the aura.**"

This aura began to fade when chatter became more frequent and room-dwelling became rare. She—doom to them all—being the last. Often, she drooped by her door, her back against its icy touch, listening to their conversations. As the aura remained, she knew well that individual piece who remained on the outside kept her there by fear itself. Fear to bond. Fear to destroy.

Once, she let myself out of the room for air, only to be taken by the arm by Beast Boy and seated upon the couch where the others debated on watching a scary movie. The monsters, so real they were. Again and again, she repeated to herself that she was not like them—she desperately trying to tell herself that she was not afraid. Soon, lights went out and the episode of fear began, the climax beginning from heavy breaths quivering in the dark. For Beast Boy, Starfire, Robin, and Cyborg, one by one they disappeared in the scene of loud creaking, foreign screaming, and monster-like illusions that her powers released without my attention. So soon, she was alone in the wake of hurt, pain, and fear.

The words, '**I need you'** and '**I am afraid'** were the words **t**hat saved them all

Back into our rooms, she thought they would sequester to. Instead, Beast Boy unleashed the common room cabinet, it to vomit out piles and piles of crumpled blankets, sleeping bags, and pillows. Forcefully, he scurried back and forth, loads of fabric in his arms, the others to watch in confusion as he fixed five beds scattered across the carpet. Cyborg shuffled over in favor of the sleepover and Starfire persuaded Raven to stay—gratefully, she did. Robin chucked and left them all in disappointment for his room. Afraid, he returned, he, head sheepishly down, should blades high, eyes apologetic, and scurried over to us all who lied upon the carpet and into his sleeping bag.

That aura that was once so strong had fled as five broken pieces were woven together in the mix of blankets, sleeping bags, and pillows. Eyes wide, she realized how much she needed them and how afraid she was of herself. A room-dweller, she still tended to be, but passed the walls and locked door lied four other pieces, weaved to her, she called friends that proved to her daily she was something good…something like them.


	7. Entry 7: Post-Traumatic (3)

She screams in the night, the intensity of her voice bouncing off the chrome walls, the echo forcefully whacking her from sleep. Shooting forward, she swallows a rough gasp, face drenched in sweat, hair strains fallen before her face, swaying in the blow of violent panting. A flash of image! Her bare back against the rough lick of a metal-thrashed floor, the shooting pain doubling as the alien presses her down.

Slowly, the memory grows, doubles with strength, taking her back to that nightmare, looming in the front of her mind, creeping, creeping, just creeping to close her in! A wail! She forces her hands to her eyes and cries. Her room becomes menacing and ghastly figures lurk from the dark corners pressing closer, closer, closer. She feels their cold hands slide up bare legs. She scampers back. In the stillness of a dark night, her arms fasten around herself and she bends forward, clutching her stomach as she collaps into the depths her covers. Fear, shame, sadness, and pain swells into the sobs she hiccups.

Eager knocks on the door and four slide in, rush to her bed side, and embrace her tenderly—she scurries to their warmth. In such a dark night, they hold her tight until the tears stop spilling. As they always do, they finally dry. She looks up to find them worried, frightened, reassuring, but more importantly—there.

Robin spoke, catching her from her daze, aimed towards them. "Who do you see, Starfire?" The others smile before her, eyes trembling—watering.

"Glorious friends."


	8. Entry 8: One Bed

Lugging through the mud, they went, the soil like wet, thick saliva, swallowing their footsteps. The dead twigs were like sharp tongues, lashing across their legs, stiff with soreness. Musk, swirling in and out of the lifeless bog shrouded the air and no northern star shinned to guide their way.

"We're almost there, Titans. Starfire," Robin beckons to the back of the line, "how much longer can hold him?"

"Long—rah" She huffed, cradling her metal-made friend, mid-float. "Long enough." Her mussels pulsed throbbing beats while exhaustion weighed her down into the arms of a black-hooded friend. Her energy, fizzing in the image of ink, lifted the two up, she, though upheld by a horse, green and wounded, to sink deeper into the bog.

"Finally." Robin breathed slowly, wiped away the tropical palm branches before him, and placed his hands upon the firm steel door, it to slide open at his touch. The swell of relief dawning upon him, he sank to his knees, eyes pouring into the depths of the emergency base. Quickly, he scampered around to find the four face down upon the dirt.

"We—we're here." Cyborg croaked. Beside him, Beast Boy lied, arm bent, drooping upon the ground next to where Starfire struggled, desperately trying to lift her metal friend once more.

"…no…" Robin stumbled towards her, placing two hands on her arms "…you will hurt yourself even more...just lie here…" His eyes glossed against hers, she to nod solemnly in acceptance. Shaking, he pushed himself to a weak stance, gently lassoed an arm around Beast Boy and pulled him onto his back, heaving the small boy out of the swirling heat, and into the layer, breaking by weakness to the cool, metallic floor. Slowly, Beast Boy slide from his back and embraced the cold, caressing his wounded arm.

To the empath, we went next. "…do you think you can heal him?" We swallowed a breath—it to be knives in his sore throat. "Do you think you can heal him in the morning?"

Weak, eyelids drooped by exhaustion, she gave a nod, grabbing ahold of Robin's hand, he to help her step by step into the layer. She fell beside Beast Boy, leaning back against the wall. Aching, Robin rose once more and heaved himself back into the bog, breaking to his knees by Starfire, he to push himself to the other side of Cyborg. .

He assured her. "I'll come for you last, okay."

"R-Robin… you are injured as well and—"

"Starfire." His voice was stern. "This is an order." With that, he heaved his friend across the dirt, taking on Starfire's struggle throughout the journey, and placed him next to Raven at the door's foot, she to take his arm around her neck and hold him up.

"Thanks Rae."

"No problem." She croaked. "Not sure how much sleep we'll get."

"Why is that?" Beast Boy rubbed his eyes.

"One bed." Raven pushed her arm to point.

To Starfire, he stumbled once more, this time, tripping over pain locked in his knees, hitting the mud where she lay.

"Robin!" She scampered towards him, he pushing himself up with strong wrists, struggling furiously.

"It's okay." He rose above her, falling upon his knees. Shoulder blades high, he panted, and bellowed by his pain. Pulsing with choking pain, he slowly moved an arm around her back and another by her thigh, pulling her up to his chest, proceeding into the base. Behind them, the door slid to a shut, clanking.

"We're safe," he huffed, falling to the floor in exhaustion, spilling Starfire, he to fall to her, tumbling.

"Robin!" She pushed his unconscious body forward into a sit, lying him against the cool floor, shaking his shoulders. Scampering to his knees, Beast Boy pressed an ear to his chest, the others to heave themselves over desperately.

"Will he be okay?"

"Please Robin. Be okay!"

A quiet moment and Beast Boy rose, his voice hoarse. "Still beating. Just over-exhausted,"

"Guys." Robin croaked, eyes shut, voice hinging on a faint whisper. "You guys take the bed. It's my fault. I led us into the trap."

"If Raven takes the bed," Beast Boy huffed, "she can heal us all in the morning."

"That's not fair." She breathed. "I'm not the most hurt. Cyborg is."

"Starfire's the one who carried me all this way." He trembled, "She's in the worst condition than me now."

"I would willingly give up the bed for Robin." She hiccupped.

Upon a series of breaths, energy pulsing through his body, Cyborg collected limited strength as well as his four friends, gently cradling them into an embrace, and went over to the mattress, they all to lie against another. "We'll share." Falling into an instant sleep until daybreak's come, they went.


	9. Entry 9: The Overflow of Magic

"Morning guys." The green boy rubs his eyes, sauntering to the ops room on a Monday morning.

"How was your slumber, friend Beast Boy?"

Dreams and how they connected to Magic.

Ravens was a spell-binder, a mistress of magic and for that magic, she refused to let consume her. Often, it gnawed at her stomach, the desire to cast overflowing from the dam, channeling itself through her body, flowing through her veins that pulsed with a mighty beat. Her fingertips sparked with black monsters when angry and goo would seep from her being when sad, so she kept her hood up and emotions to tight. Nevertheless, the power still gnawed. To fight evil and to heal, she drove her power to do. However, there was another reason for her power's existence.

Often, she would phase into Beast Boy's wall, cast a charm to his mind, wiping away the nightmares that usually ravaged, bungling memories with a sense of horror. With the breath, she calmed those storms, remaining awake for the majority of the night just to be sure. Why she did this?

She would do anything to stop a boy's screaming in the night.

"How was your slumber, friend Beast Boy?"

"Good, thank you!"

Behind her hood, she gave a weak smile.

Not that he would remember, but he use to scream a lot.


	10. Entry 10: Uniforms

Author's Note: So I thought I would give a long one because of how long its been. I would have rather made this a lot shorter by simply telling the moment as something that happened, rather than as a story. Do you know what I mean by that? But if I used the story option, I could express more emotion. I may redo this one because it deals with a strong issue: the outside reflects who we are. So if you have any thoughts let me know. Thank you for reading!

* * *

Uniforms: Those Loud Colors

(Version 1)

* * *

Eyes wide, pupils shaking, irises glossing under the span of light from the overhead lamp, he looks deep into his reflection. It is handsome. It is somber. It is sad. In the stillness of the moment, he gazes down the mirror: the purple DOOM PATROL jumpsuit replaced by a thick layer of black leather wrapped around his form. That's all it is: a black layer of leather.

* * *

_"My name is Rita, child. Oh, please stay awake for me."_

_He catches glimpses of sight: the open night sky, swinging to her, then back to the sky. In her arms, he swings to see the night sky once more, then peaks to the ground... all goes black. Soon, the sky emerges once more from the cloud of black fog swirling between his empty thoughts. Her hold on him clasping tighter as she runs, she looks back down to him. Out cold once more. Fear hurts her, makes her desperate, she to increase her speed unitl his eyes weakly open once more. He looks back back to her, her mouth unhinged, hastily gulping down air, high above him... then back to black. _

_"...Rita?"_

* * *

His voice hinges weakly as he peeks over his shoulder and down his back, those solemn eyes soon drooping to the floor. "I don't think I zipped the back up right."

None answer. The cheery purples, the dull blues and navies, and the lively reds, bright greens, and blinding yellows are loud, overlapped in neat, folded piles, although the five are not. Arms slinging around their waists, they slouch, shoulder blades high, no longer able to recognize who stares back in the reflections.

Uniforms were meant to unify—to unite. Usually, teams bounded themselves together by wearing in the same colors in which they often wore in pride. Pride in unity is what they stood for. By this principal, the public questioned why the Titans had rejected the idea of uniforms in the past. Last week after the brutal retaliations dealt by the press, they remained silent in the security of their own home, all seated upon the couch as if the option did not exist. Words went unsaid; however, they did not need to be.

With the courage brought by a deep breath, her eyes peep from her shoulder now turning to the center. Her long purple boots draping from her shoulder, she makes her way to Garfield, now slouched against the tall mirror's feet, his small fingers swirling his mix of clothes upon the floor. She manages a smile—faint, but assuring—and taps the zipper, fixing it back into place.

"It's supposed to stretch as I do." His voice is weak—solemn. His eyes flooding to the floor, he does not meet her. "…but it still feels like I am in a wetsuit..."

"I am afraid the wetsuit feel comes with the fabric, friend Beast Boy."

It's tight, scale-like. By its look, it was easy to move around in. A black hood unfolded from the neckline, scooping down to the back as it fell. In the flash of the light, pride's color, gold, that encases the noble "T" pinned upon the chest shines. In addition, a pristine golden belt clasps around the waist.

Choking, he speaks up, "Do you feel uncomfortable?"

Slightly sighing under the blanket of silence, she slowly runs her hands down her frame, feeling her curves that carve into her body and the black fabric that exposed its shape, presenting it like a highlight against the white wall. "On Tamaran," she begins, fingers still fidgeting with her friend's collar, "purple is the color of righteousness, strength, and justice, as well as royalty. Warriors wrap themselves in these colors for bravery while the brave fight in their bare selves. Black is a forbidden color. Oh," she pauses, "I am afraid I feel much farther from home." She stutters, "d-due to these clothes."

Well, don't wear it." He whispers, shaking his head.

* * *

_"Rita? What's wrong?" Mento runs to her, the two others behind him, they to be suddenly hit by the image of the green child in her arms. Perplexed, they become. _

_"Mento. This child. I-I" She gulps down a breath. "He needs help. Blankets? Warmth? Do we have any blankets?" _

_"Lawrence. Get the emergency fire blanket in the OPS Room!" Mento order, Lawrence to be handed the child from Rita's arms and to run into the depths of the base. "Rita, who is that child? Why is he green? And where did you find him."_

_"By section seventeen *huff* in jungle. Parents dead. Too young to be by himself," she gasps for air, hands upon her knees. "Hurt. Knocked against the outlook's rocks. Fought off a cat." _

_"A cat?!" _

_"Powerful kid," she straightens her back to look her leader in the eyes as the sweat drips down her face, her expression scared, shrouded in angst. "Green for nature. Shape-shifter like me. Only into animals." Into her eyes he looks, her thoughts to overflow into his no matter how hard he tried to fight it. _

_'He needs help. No. He needs help. He needs help. No. He needs help. He could be a part of the team. No. He could help us. Like we help him. He could help us. He needs help. We need help. He is like us. He is like me. Please, he needs help.'_

_"Mento!" Lawrence emerges, hushing the moment into stillness, and sets down the small child in DOOM PATROL's uniform, waking from his sleep state. "Blankets are gone. All we have is this spare uniform."_

* * *

Intently, Beast Boy watches Cyborg, his paces so slow and steady, join the he and Starfire in the mirror.

"It stretches alright." Cyborg crosses his arms, back upright, firm, and strong.

"You look most wonderful, Cyborg." Starfire smiles.

"That's the metal pieces." He drives his chin to his shoulder, the cold of it seeping through the fabric. "In this get up, I look strong, bulked—like a human. Well, except for this side of my face. The leather masks what's truly missing." He swallows his breath.

"Nothing's missing." Raven steps in, her face stoic, mouth in the form of a straight line, brows pushed upward. Her hands bundle and clench the hood around her neck as he elbows drop to her chest. "There's a hood." Her voice hinges. "Like mine…at least."

"…nothing is missing…" Starfire murmurs. Slowly, her chin rises, her eyes to meet her reflection once more. Then, she nods to her Cyborg friend. "…nothing is missing…"

Into the depths of his reflection, Beast Boy looks once more, pushing down the memories that choke his mind. Together, the four turn in towards each other, and then out to face their leader. He is quiet—hasn't spoken since the hour's beginning. Although his back is turned, his emotion is as loud as the colors scattered upon the floor now. In his mirror, he meets their gaze, following it to his chest and to the red tunic in his arms. To them, he carries it like a wounded child. His arms are wide open, draped in Robin's attire of red, yellow, and green. His shoulder blades are high and aligned with his feet that stand two feet apart as he slouches.

Head held high, Robin retrieves a brave voice, meeting the others in the mirror. "…nothing is missing…" And to the wounded child in his arms, he looks. Beast Boy's eyes widen.

* * *

_"How does it fit?" Her voice is most kind. She sits on her knees so that she can match his small height, smiling to assure him of her friendliness. In the uniform, his is bold and quite dashing. Mento towers over the two, looking down at the child with hesitance, still able to manage an intimidating scowl. The child beckons. _

_"I really like the purple." His voice is shy, but cute, winding up as his eyes rise to meet the team that stands before him._

_"What's your name?" Mento speaks. _

_"Uh...Beast!" He's a bad liar. _

_"Well... Beast..." Mento scorns, parting his team as he turns away. "I am afraid we cannot be with an imposter, so until we know your name we—"_

_"Wait!" Beast hesitates, fastening his hands awkwardly around his waist. He stands insecure, afraid. "...I'm a monster...so maybe Beast is name..."_

_"You certainly don't look like a monster."_

_"I can change into any animal. Doesn't that make me a beast?"_

_"Show me." _

_And to the team of four, the beast-like boy shifted into the cat he fought with the week before. The boy stretches away, his cute cheeks becoming whiskers attached into an awful snarl, sharp with fangs, his small legs and body growing in tremendous length. All four are strong. His massive body eclipses Rita's while the tail lashes through the air like an excited whip. To Mento, he looks, and then proceeds to where he stands. His arms cross as if pleased although his expression does not hint it. Before him, the beast sits in adherence. Eye to eye, Mento is with the yellow-eyed beast. _

_As the memory of the recent tragedy makes contact to Mento's mind, he beckons back wearing a solemn expression. The child shifts down back into the size of the boy. _

_"Garfield, is it?" _

_"I would prefer another name."_

_"I understand." Mento's mind flashes to the child's memories. "Wear this uniform, Beast Boy. It will protect you so you no longer have to think about what has happened. The purple here is the future. It's light, cheery. Always keep that in mind. Here, the black represents the grave past. Your uniform wears it so you don't have to. Understood?"_

* * *

CRACK! Four jump! Shards fall from the frame of the mirror, carrying pieces of the Titans' reflection to the ground, clanking as they shatter into dust. They whip around to see a still Garfield ready to throw another box by the gesture of his hand. He slings it over his head.

"Oh something is **definitely** missing." He sneers in the thick blanket of silence.

"That mirror was missing Raven, Cyborg, Starfire, and Robin. I am missing. Look at this reflection." He points to another mirror, the four others to follow into the reflection. "Where's DOOM PATROL? I can't find them in this leather...I can't find the moment I joined their team...the moment I first transformed into a Rex"

"It's just a uniform, Beast Boy." Raven comments.

"Let him speak," Robin ensures.

"You see? It's much more than that. Raven, I can't see myself. Where's the goofiness? I used to wear a stupid mask. What can remind me of that? What can remind me of DOOM PATROL in this get up? I can't even find Azarath in you. Yes, you have a hood... but where's the cape? The boots?"

To his question, her gaze descends to the floor. Insecure, she rubs her wrists.

"I do not have Tamaran in me as well."

"Now, look at me!" Playfully, Beast Boy struts to another mirror, hands gripping the sides of the leather suit like a child trying to get out of his church clothes. "...Nah... this not me... that's what is missing, guys. Ha-ha! Look! I am hot! I look sexy in this leather. And you guys do too!" He spits out his tongue, "Bleh." Furiously, he runs his hands to his hair, it to grow into a haystack. Chin rising, he flips his hair and gives a wink to the mirror.

"Ha-ha! You're not finished yet, green bean!" Cyborg tackles him to the floor. "You need the goofy expression. This wise talking isn't you either."

"You wanna go, bro?" Beast Boy bites into the fun.

"Let me fight the elephant! Bring on the elephant!"

Laughing, Beast Boys shifts to the animal, stretching that black suit to ridiculous limits, it to be no more than a thin layer of a cloth strapped around the green elephant.

"Boys! You will rip it!" Raven warns.

And it happened... she averts her eyes before the explosion of black leather. In little pieces, it sprinkles like black snow onto the boy left in his underwear. Red cheeked, he rejoices, dancing like a child in the snow. In a fit of happiness, he slides to the ground, wraps his arms around his own clothes, and tosses them to the air. Those loud colors—the cheery purples, the dull blues and navies, and the lively reds, bright greens, and blinding yellows—soar through the air with each throw. A blast of electric blue and Cyborg's suit shoots into the air, revealing his true self: metal and all.

"Take this, friend!" Starfire blasts her pile of clothing to the boys.

"Hey!" Raven's forces a field to rise, sparing herself from the up-splash of clothes.

And it happened, the room erupted into a fight, battled with colorful clothing flying left, right, up, down, to, and fro. Loud colors drowned the loud room! Through the piles of abundant clothing, the Titans rolled, threw the black to the air, tackled another into messes, and laughed like children. Uniforms were torn, clothes were switched, and mirrors were shattered. In forts, they sequestered to find a moment to breath. By the hour's end, the five found themselves lying on another, watching the remaining pieces of cloth peacefully glide through the air.

Beast Boy somehow found himself Raven's leotard (his boxer poking out underneath), Robin's cape, and some beanie he found on the floor, Cyborg in Robin's mask, Raven's cape, and shreds of the black suit tied around his legs, Raven unwillingly strapped in Beast Boy's DOOM PATROL shirt as well as Starfire's top and gloves along with Robin's gold belt, Starfire in her mini skirt, Robin's shirt, an ugly green hat, and Raven's boots, and Robin in Star's belt securing DOOM PATROLS' pants while his green gloves remained on his hands. In addition, strips of the remaining suit strapped to his chest.

"So what should I tell them?" Robin asks, crushing Beast Boy underneath.

"A 'no' would be most appropriate." Starfire chimes from next to Cyborg.

"Yeah. Not like we have anything to return though" Raven agrees.

"Yep." Cyborg laughs.

"Yeah." Beast Boy smiles at the DOOM PATROL gloves he managed to save. "A no to the uniforms would be 'most' appropriate."

* * *

Author's Note: So I thought I would give a long one because of how long its been. I would have rather made this a lot shorter by simply telling the moment as something that happened, rather than as a story. Do you know what I mean by that? But if I used the story option, I could express more emotion. I may redo this one because it deals with a strong issue: the outside reflects who we are. So if you have any thoughts let me know. Thank you for reading!


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